The Maverick
by cjp242
Summary: Early years story. Contains reference to, thought not description of child abuse. If you don't enjoy stories where the main characters aren't as virtuous as they might be, please pass this one by. I've delayed giving full details of the opening incident until later in the story. I'm not sure if that works, but it's hard to tell as I know all about it already!


! Contains reference to, though not description of, child abuse.

If you don't enjoy a tale where the main characters aren't as virtuous as they might be, please pass this one by.

I've delayed giving full details of the opening incident until later in the story. Not sure if that works – it's hard to tell since I already know all about it!

The Maverick

Young Jed Curry bit hard on his lower lip as he gazed down into the chocolate-brown eyes, round as saucers, wild and staring, the pupils dilated with fear. He _had_ _to_ decide, he _must_ decide, and quickly, but he couldn't pin down his racing thoughts amidst the uproar, the angry cursing, the bitter stench of sweat and cattle, the dust choking his throat. He shook his head to try to clear it, sending his golden curls flying, but in the end he didn't need to reason it out, he just knew, deep down. It was plain wrong. Whatever the consequences, he couldn't do it. Stormy blue eyes stared down into the pleading dark eyes a moment longer, then he blinked, turned on his heel and walked swiftly away. Immediately the shouting behind him rose to a crescendo, and he could pick out the furious growl of his boss, 'Yu walk off the job now son, don't yu bother coming back. Yu aint got no job ta come back tu!'; and his friend, Hannibal Heyes, yelling excitedly, 'I'll do it for him, Mr Sampson. Let me, I'll do it.' Then he broke into a run, leapt on his pony, and spurred her into a gallop. He had to get away, somewhere, anywhere, far away from the beeves and the dust, the noise and the pain.

Jed rode dismally back into camp at lunchtime, to say goodbye to Han and collect his wages. It was nearly the end of the month and he had scarcely a dime in his pockets, but the boss was a fair man whom he trusted not to sell him short despite his abrupt departure.

He took one foot from the stirrup, and was immediately hauled out of the saddle by Heyes, who latched onto his arm and dragged him out of the camp circle, using his greater size and strength.

'Hey!'

'Hey nothing. What the _hell_ did you think you were playing at! You can't afford to act like some squeamish, mincing little princess, pressing a lace handkerchief to her nose. You've castrated 'em, branded 'em, shot 'em, why the hell not this?' Heyes wasn't waiting for a reply, so all Jed could do was kick the dirt. It was impossible to win an argument with his older friend anyhow, so why bother to reply?

'Well you're darn lucky you've got me. I had to talk myself hoarse, but the boss'll keep you on, s' long as you apologise and do as you're told in future.'

'Won't!'

'What d'you mean "won't"?! You listen to me, and you listen good, Jed Curry.' Heyes stood real close, his chin thrust forward, pushing the younger boy repeatedly, hard on shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. 'You're the lightest an' the weakest, so you gotta do it, like it or not. You got the easy part! Me and the men got half busted up, hanging onto that full grown steer, while you lolled around like a drunk on wages day, then bottled out and ran for it.'

'I aint gonna do it, Han, I _aint_!'

Hannibal Heyes threw up his hands in exasperation. When Jed got a notion into his head, no matter it was some darn fool notion, he could be mighty stubborn, 'Look, if _you_ won't do it, someone else is gonna do it, every single time! So your takin' fright at a little bit of needlework, won't make a dang speck of difference. _I_ sewed up that steer's eyes this morning* – it were _easy_ , and now it can't see, it's sticking closer than a fly to fly-paper to all the other dumb beeves. They're all being sent to slaughter anyhow, so what the hell does it matter if a few go with their eyes shut? You're just bein' _stupid_!'

'I aint! I aint. It aint right!' Young as he was, Jed had shot hundreds, maybe thousands of animals to eat, but to blind one first, it made his stomach crawl. Most maverick cattle would settle down when you brought them to the herd, but just a few had an extra streak of wildness, a determination to head for the forests, away from the other steers, no matter what. It was only a handful and he reckoned they deserved to run free, not be forced into submission by having their eyelids sewn together. For a moment, Jed imagined what it would be like to live in perpetual darkness and, shivering, looked quickly away.

Heyes dug his fingers hard into the boy's bony shoulder, to summon back his attention, 'Well you aint got no choice. These are good men and we're safe here. Have you forgot so quick what an ugly world it is out there? We scarce escaped from that last outfit with our hides intact. It was only the rain as saved us. Do you want to risk _that_ , again? You realise what they'd 've done if they'd caught you, don't you?' He shook the child roughly, to try to force some commonsense into him, 'They'd have taken turns fucking your arse off, till you could scarce stand up, let along sit down. Is _that_ what you want?!'

Jed looked away again, patting the gun at his side. Just the feel of it calmed the terror stoking inside. He swung back, blue eyes flashing. 'I can defend myself now. I'm gettin' quicker every day.'

'Oh yes, _course_ , I forgot, the _big_ fast draw can shoot down _all_ comers! He's gonna be just fine.' Heyes' voice dripped sarcasm, 'So you can fire that hog's leg in your _sleep_ now, can you? You gotta sleep sometime kid, an' that's when they're gonna jump you. A fast draw aint gonna do you a dang bit of good then!'

Jed kicked the ground mulishly, 'I'll manage.'

'Oh yea?! Just look what happened the last time you tried to defend yourself! Did the jury believe you stabbed that deputy in self defence? Hell no, they tossed you out of the frying pan straight into the fire at Valparaiso.'

'I fought em off. Protected you too, as I recall.'

'You got lucky, an' managed to stab Walt the first time he tried to grab hold of you, an' that put the fear of god into him an' all the rest. But you weren't "alright" were you? Constantly looking over your shoulder, scarce spitting out a word, flying into the attack if anyone came near, even harmless old Joe White, beaten black and blue an' locked up for hours on end every time the staff found one of your knives, missing meals, half-starved. And don't kid yourself, Walt was waiting on his chance. He an' his gang were gonna use you, then kill what was left, if I hadn't got us out of there when I did. But dang it all! Valparaiso was child's play compared to the territorial pen., an' if you rely on that gun, that's straight where you're headed …if you aint strung up from the nearest tree!'

Jed felt the bile rising in his throat, and balled his fists tight, digging his nails hard into the palms of his hands. He hated the raiders who had tortured and killed his family, he hated the lawman who had tried to drag him down a back alley in Lawrence, he hated the gang of older boys who held a reign of terror and violated the younger kids at Valparaiso…and right now, most of all, he _hated_ Hannibal Heyes who was trying to bully him into doing what he didn't want to do, something which was _wrong_. He wanted it all, everything to _stop_!

Taken by surprise, Heyes was sent flying off his feet as the small ball of fury impacted hard into his midriff. The two boys rolled on the ground in a vicious tussle, fists flailing, biting and gouging, until Heyes's greater size and strength told, and he managed to land a stunning blow. Now his temper was rising too. Being the oldest and smartest was an awful heavy responsibility, especially when your partner was the stubbornest, orneriest, dumbest idiot, whose golden curls and pretty face attracted trouble wherever you went. And this fool of a partner was now throwing away your safe haven for the sake of a lump of meat which would be slaughtered within the month. He'd kept the boy from serious harm so far, but the odds were stacked against them and however smart he was, however wary, he could see nothing but disaster staring them in the face. He sat on Jed's stomach, grabbed his shirt front and pounded him repeatedly into the dirt, yelling, though the child wasn't in much of a state to hear. 'You – gotta – grow – up! – Stop – bein' – such a baby! – We can't …' A torrent of cold water shocked him, spluttering and choking, back to his senses. The cook set down his bucket and hauled Heyes away by his collar.

'I don't know what's got inta yu boys, but yu're gonna do young Jed serious mischiff if yu don't lay offa him. I thought yu two was supposed ta be _friends_!' He gave Heyes a little shake.

The shock of cold water had brought Jed to and he scrambled to his feet, straining with all his might to continue the fight, but one of the hands grabbed hold of the back of his shirt and held him away.

Heyes ruefully massaged the bites and the bruises; the kid was extremely strong for his size, and he was sure glad he'd only used his fists and teeth. He looked his young partner up and down. He was a pitiful sight, with a thick lip, a black eye and a thin trickle of blood dripping from his scalp where his head had repeatedly struck the rocky ground. Heyes' breathing began to slow, the red mist faded. He was sorry he'd been so rough; he rarely lost control like that, but to be forced back on the road, because the kid wouldn't do this simple job!… back on the trail where it was a safe bet starvation would be the least of their troubles, for Jed especially. His pretty yellow curls, bright blue eyes and vulnerable appearance were a magnet to the kind of men who preyed on young boys, and it was fortunate that a loving, but tough upbringing with grandpa Curry had equipped him to defend himself. Yet it was luck, as well as fighting spirit, that had kept him more or less unharmed so far and the law of averages meant that one day that luck was sure to run out….

Heyes sighed. But when all was said and done, Jed Curry was still a kid. He wasn't sure exactly how old. They claimed 14, but that was a figure made up for the boss; Heyes didn't know, and Jed couldn't remember, so he could be younger, he looked maybe 10. No, the kid couldn't be expected to think like a grown man, and he'd always been able to do stubborn better than anyone else Heyes knew, so there was no help for it, they'd have to leave. Hannibal's shoulders slumped, as the oldest and all of 16, it was his duty to keep the child safe, and if anyone touched him… he didn't know what he'd do, but if any man laid so much as a finger on Jed, he didn't know how, but he, Hannibal Heyes, would make the bastard pay.

He reached out to tousle the blond curls, 'Sorry I hit so hard, kid.'

Irritated at being treated like a child, Jed dodged and glared, then broke into a sheepish grin. He gave his friend a gentle shove, lisping slightly through his thick lip, 'Na, doan matter, ya punsch like a gal!' There was some good-natured jostling, then Heyes slung his arm companionably round the younger boy's shoulders, 'So where we gonna go next?'

'What!? Ya mean ya not shtaying here? Ya coming with me?!'

'Course, we're partners aint we?'

'WHOOOEEE!' Surprised but delighted, Jed punched the air, and broke into a broad smile, full of Arizona sunshine. Heyes beamed back, his expression swearing, _trust me, I''ll always be there for you_. There was no need to mention that the old man had told him to hit the road too, if the kid left. His 'sacrifice' might come in useful if Jed ever dug in his heels in future and he needed to guilt him into towing the line. Anyhow, in essence it was true, wasn't it? Even if he could have stayed, surely he would never have let his partner ride out alone...

Heyes strolled over to the boss to collect their pay.

'24 days, so here's $24.'

'Thank you sir. An' I'll collect Jed's money too, so that's $48.'

The old man frowned, 'Yu just send him on over. He's done a man's work. I'll give his money to him, same as the rest uv the hands.'

Heyes shrugged and ambled off. Why was the boss making such a fuss? He and Jed were partners and they shared everything in common. All he had to do was ask, and his friend would hand over his last dime without a murmur.

A few minutes later Jed trotted up.

'Sorry to see yu go, son, but yu understand that I can't keep yu on, don't yu? It's tough enough as 'tis to git this ornery bunch to do as they're told, without setting a pree-cee-dent.' He handed over the money, and Jed's one good eye sparkled as he looked down at the bunch of coins in his hands. There was a long pause, then his shoulders sagged a little, as reluctantly he proffered the money back, 'Yas done made a mishtake, Mishter Shampshon. I'm only owed $24.'

The old man smiled. Jed was a good kid, 'The rest's a bonus fer one of ma top hands! Yu put it away, and don't let no one know how much yu got, or they'll think I've gone soft; an' least of all Heyes. I'm paying it to yu, for yurself, not ta stake him at the gamin' tables.'

Jed quickly stowed the coins in his pocket.

'Promise now!'

The boy grinned, nodding, 'Thank ya, Mr Shampshon, shir.'

Shaking his head, the old man watched Jed jog away to join his friend. He didn't have much hope that his gift would stay long in the boy's pocket, but he'd done his best. If spent wisely, it would be enough to tide him over until the cuts and bruises healed and he had a chance of getting respectable employment. More likely, Heyes would get his hands on it and use it as a stake at the poker tables, causing a whole heap of trouble for his young friend. Though the older boy won more often than not, and it wasn't just another of his glib lies when he claimed to be a peaceable fellow – he surely weren't one to lose his temper and draw down on a man – but for that _truly_ to mean something, he had to live a genuinely peaceable life. As it was, he'd a talent for stirring up a hornet's nest full of trouble, and then more often than not, it would be young Jed, with his fast draw, who'd have to deal with the consequences. He'd seen Heyes' type before.

Still he was a loyal cuss and very protective of his partner, in his own way. When the pair of them had first fetched up at the ranch gate, he'd offered a job just to the older boy, since the other looked too small and weak to handle the rough work. But Heyes had talked his ears off, begging that his friend be given a trial, and what d'yu know! His legs might scarce reach the bottom of the saddle flaps, but little Jed could ride, rope, throw fat calves for branding larger than he was, and that gun – he was faster and more accurate with that colt than every one of the regular hands. He was full of guts too, never seeming to mind how banged up he got, and heading straight in among the huge, long-horned cattle without a moment's hesitation.

No it was Heyes he regretted hiring. That lad was a born trouble-maker, stirring up discontent among the crew by taking their hard-earned wages at poker, shirking his work the minute you turned your back, sometimes even off-loading his own jobs onto the child. He'd only kept him on because where one lad went, the other went too, and it had soon become clear how vulnerable Jed was, however, brave and resilient he appeared.

When they'd first ridden in, before they got to know the other hands, the two boys had both been extremely jumpy, especially when any of the men happened near the younger one. Then second night out, he'd been caught in a nightmare and started making such a racket that Ralph had gone to wake him so everyone could get some sleep. A mere fraction of a second later the terrified cowboy was staring straight down the barrel of a shiny colt 45. The boy didn't mean nothing, didn't know what he was doing, but he was a danger to the rest of the men, so Sampson, as top hand, had dismissed him on the spot, but again Heyes had begged and pleaded, said everything would be fine, if only they'd leave him to deal with the bad dreams. Eventually, he gave the boys leave to stay, on condition the gun was unloaded each night before Jed went to sleep.

Yes, it was clear the youngsters had lived a rough life – lost their folks in the war most likely; he'd remarked as much to his Elizabeth. Course, he could have bitten off his tongue as soon as he said it – just got her worrying the more about their own lost boys, and she'd pled hard for these two. They'd not heard a word about their own sons in all the long, weary years since the battle of Chickamauga, despite his making inquiries as best he could ever since. But if they were out there somewhere and not feeding the crows, he prayed some stranger would lend them a helping hand, if they should ever need it. In that spirit, he'd given these two strays a second chance.

He'd watched them at night several times since. If Jed started tossing and turning, trapped in some nightmare, Heyes would stumble out of his bedroll to fetch the coffee pot from the fire and a couple of cups, then gingerly kick at the soles of the kid's boots until he woke up, wild-eyed, lashing out. Then, once this violent, first reaction had passed, the older boy would calmly sit down nearby and start talking – always the same simple questions, always about guns. Did the kid carry a colt or a schofield? What slugs did it take? 45s? And so on and so forth. At first Jed would just sit there, but after a little while, as he left the world of his dreams behind, he'd start mumbling out answers. Then Heyes would make a 'mistake' and Jed would take him to task. 'How could you _not_ know _that_? _How many_ times have I told you _that_?' and Heyes would chuckle, and Jed join in, sheepishly, a little shakily. And eventually the kid would wrap himself tight in his bedroll and lie down, his bright blue eyes glinting in the firelight. Whatever demons there were in their past, those boys never let on, but some great trauma had welded them together tight.

Neither one spoke about any happy times in their early lives either, but Jed was a credit to his parents, a fine lad, whom any man would be proud to call his son. He was sorry he had to let him go. He watched them walking away towards their ponies, the dark-haired boy with his arm slung across the child's shoulders, chattering ten to the dozen. He would pray for Jed, for them both, but a cocky, clever chancer partnered with a troubled fast-draw, who could say what the future would hold…?

*I read about the practice of sewing up the eyelids of maverick cattle in a cowboy memoir. The author didn't have a problem with it as a young teen, but I thought some boys might.


End file.
